Intermission
by Topaznik-Citrine
Summary: One-shot. Whether it was a nightmare or not, her doorknob was rattling, and she could still hear the last few dragged out notes on Soul's piano fading in the back of her head. Wast it him? Or was it that horrific image in her head? implied SxM


**A/N: One of my whims.**

**By the way, this whole story is based on a piano piece.**

**I do recommend you listen to the song, if you want to get in the creepy fanfiction-mood. I'll mention it in the disclaimer, just now.**

**DISCLAIMER: Soul Eater belongs to Atsushi Okubo, and the piece 'Intermission' belongs to Brendon Urie from the band 'Panic! At The Disco'.**

**Let me not say 'Enjoy', because I usually do not finish stories that I start with 'Enjoy'.**

**(Superstitious.)**

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Maka was dreaming. That's what she would repeat to herself in a constantly failing attempt at comforting herself; yes, it's always easier to say that it was just a nightmare. But wasn't it just that? A nightmare? Sometimes nightmares run deep, lingering to the point of slight mental trauma. Let's hope that time really does heal absolutely everything, in this case.

Why else would she be standing in her nightgown in a dark room that she clearly remembers to be a part of Soul's symbolic subconsciousness, a music room of black and white, and red. She shivered- she was cold in only her simple, white spaghetti-string nightgown. Her blond hair framed her pale face, ending in soft curls that trembled like her limbs.

Yes. She was in that nonexistent room, and everything was pitch black. No, that wasn't true- she was surrounded in her own bubble of yellow light, like someone had turned on a small lamp somewhere near her, although no source of light was anywhere to be found. And although she only remembered this place specifically for Soul's piano, the grand instrument- and the white haired boy, for that matter- they were nowhere in sight.

And the oddest thing?

Music was playing. It was weird music. Electronic. Technological, but with a definite rhythm. It was in the room, it had to be. But she couldn't see it. She was okay with this- so far, there was nothing scary about that dream.

Until the music was cut off. Far too abruptly was her weird, fast-paced sound replaced with muffled static. It almost made her flinch. A shudder traveled from the pit of her stomach to her head when a voice spoke up. She clutched at her arms, straining her ears to catch the words. It reminded her of the male announcer voice that sometimes spoke through the contraption in their living room that Soul called a 'radio'. It was saying...

"Ladies and gentlemen, due to the circumstances that are.." She didn't get something there, "we are unable to continue our-" Nor there "-broadcast and shall continue now with our piano-" She couldn't catch the last word, and was frustrated that she had been a tad distracted by the dull, repetitive '...Buuuuz.... Buuuuuz.... Buuuuuz...' behind the voice, before a piano took it's place.

The piano. Her muscles unclenched, her arms dropping to her sides. It was a beautiful, dark piece that flowed quickly and flawlessly, fitting the atmosphere of the room perfectly. She dared to take a step toward it, she knew it had to be close.

And it was. And wasn't.

It was because she found the radio- just like the one in their living room, a vertically elongated semicircle, with one round silver speaker on the center and a bunch of knobs and buttons on the bottom.

It wasn't because the radio was now turned off. It was most certainly where the voice had come from- of that at least, she was completely sure of. Now, it stared back at her idly. She turned her head to the right, automatically. Faced with an equally dark hall, she was convinced that's where the melody came from. She turned to it, and began to walk unhesitatingly. She was walking away from the light, in search for the music.

And now... it transformed, the notes falling perfectly in line into a suspenseful, yet just as nice, beat with not much change in the tempo at all. Except... she noticed it got a little faster with each step she took into the ever thickening darkness.

She walked, heart beating in her ears, palms sweaty. Yes, she could see it now, there he was. His back facing her, his head bobbing as his fingers danced upon the yellowing ivory keys, bathed in unnervingly dim light. The music got faster, and faster, and so unbelievably fast that she gasped quietly for breath and found that she couldn't speak, couldn't find his name on the tip of her tongue.

And when the music stopped too abruptly yet again at it's very climatic crescendo, she almost thought her heart had stopped beating, too.

The music was bad. But the silence was so, so much worse.

She was suffocating- where was her courage now?

This was not Soul, this was not the Soul she knew, this was not _her Soul._

There was a flash of crimson- but what did she know? There was red, black and white everywhere!

He was turning his head, and she wanted to turn and run but she was locked in place, somehow her muscles had frozen over.

She realized, then, that it was not darkness that surrounded them. It was blood.

His face. She couldn't scream if she wanted to. His eyes were completely black- the blood was seeping, pouring from his nose, his ears, his mouth.

The flash of crimson, again- and the imp appeared in front of her, grinning like the devil that it was, eyes flashing dangerously, reaching for her- she wanted to scream, so she desperately searched for her voice- and she found it.

She screamed.

She screamed bloody murder. Even when her eyes opened, and she discovered that she was in her room in the middle of the night, she continued screaming. She covered her mouth, trying to muffle her hysteria with the side of her pillow. What if Soul heard her?

And as terrible as it was, the thought horrified her. What if... it was still not her Soul?

She felt tears streaming down her face. She wasn't cold, now entangled in her sheets, but she shook violently. No, she couldn't make a sound. Wouldn't. She would control her sobbing screams with her pillow, drenched in sweat and tears, and in the morning she would run to class at 6:00 in the morning. She would avoid her weapon until she was sure it was still him.

Footsteps. Her nails dug into the skin of her palm. They were getting closer. She curled up into a fetal position. Her doorknob rattled as someone struggled to open her door. She whimpered.

The door was slammed open, and she let out another little shriek.

...It was him. It was him, panting at the door frame, looking almost as frightened as she was. Concern was evident in his beautiful crimson eyes, and he stood there in a shirt and boxers, not a formal suit. No blood, as far as the eyes can see. Red or Black.

"....Maka?" His voice was soft and questioning, and worried as hell.

She still couldn't speak, but was practically dying of relief. He came over and awkwardly put a hand on her back, but she would have none of that. She flung her arms around his neck and sobbed loudly into shirt, racking with violent tremors. He returned the tight embrace, and commented after a while...

"How uncool." She could hear the playful smirk in his voice, and laughed. The laugh came off a little hysterical, but that was okay. It was him.


End file.
